Mel Gibson could have done worse than to hire them. He got shafted every step of the way, Joe thought.
Gingerly, Joe flicked down the links, scanning the various headlines and statements: BRETHREN SCORE ANOTHER LEGAL WIN FOR INJUSTICE…FAMILIES OF MURDER VICTIMS PRAISE BRETHREN FOR VERDICT…ARCHARD POSSIBILITY FOR HUMANITARIAN AWARD…FAMILIES OF TALLY MAN VICTIMS SEEN OUTSIDE BRETHREN OFFICE. Clicking on the link, Joe read with curiosity about how some of Stark’s victims’ relatives had been discussing in an interview how they wished to engage The Brethren regarding some sort of recompense for their suffering as they felt the justice system had failed them. It went on to describe their feelings on the death penalty and how his punishment had been quick whereas theirs was never-ending.
He once again found himself caught off-guard by discussion of The Brethren and their involvement in criminal justice. He had thought he knew every facet and fact surrounding Stark and his murders yet had never once caught wind of the fact that the relatives had been soliciting such attention. His arrogant assumption concerning his knowledge of Obadiah’s crimes was diminishing rapidly.
Joe pinched the skin between his eyebrows together and sighed. He was about to close down the browser when his attention was captured by a link that read ‘BRETHREN EMPLOYEE CLAIMS SMEAR CAMPAIGN AGAINST HIM.’ The link took him to the front cover of a newspaper with the headline black and bold across the top. The photograph beneath showed an earnest looking middle-aged man who sat in what looked like a living room.
The article beneath detailed how the man identified as Lewis Dunwall had been in their employ for eight years only to find himself dismissed when he accused them of engaging in questionably ethical practices. Though Dunwall refused to state in the interview what exactly they had done, he alluded to the fact that their altruistic nature wasn’t entirely genuine and that they sometimes achieved results for their clients in a manner that contradicted the very notion of what people would consider justice. The article ended with details regarding an out-of-court settlement for an undisclosed sum of money.
Joe printed off the page and scribbled Dunwall’s name on a piece of paper before briskly walked over to Ciaran’s office. He knocked and entered without waiting to be invited. “Just come right in,” Ciaran stated with irritation. “Shouldn’t you be at home resting?”
“I haven’t got time for that,” Joe replied curtly. “I was wondering if you remembered anything about this?” He placed the printout on the desk.
Ciaran looked down to the section Joe was pointing to and scanned it quickly. “Why? What’s this about?”
“Would you just tell me if you remember anything about it?”
Ciaran raised his eyebrows in response to Joe’s insolent tone. “Okay, I’m going to assume that your attitude is down to you having the remnants of a concussion, but aside from that, yes I remember it. The guy was employed by The Brethren, was sacked for a reason known only to them and the next thing he starts spouting off to anyone who will listen that the company occasionally gets results for its clients by less than above board means. What more do you want to know? He was just pissed at being fired and had a vendetta against them.”
Joe frowned. “Why didn’t they try to sue him for libel? Further down it says they settled out of court. Isn’t that a little funny for such a big company, whom I’ve never heard of by the way, to do? Paying him off smacks a little of buying his silence rather than recompensing him for lost earnings don’t you think?”
“I try not to think too much when it comes to you, Joe,” Ciaran said exasperatedly. “What are you angling for now? What has any of this got to do with Stark or your book? I’ve given you a lot of latitude with this project of yours. Don’t try my patience which is already fuckin’ wafer thin at this moment in time.”
“I think it has everything to do with Stark, I’m just not sure how.”
“And you think this because…?” he asked, trying hard to contain his temper. “If you say a hunch you’re fired.”
Joe paused thoughtfully. “There are discrepancies in the log regarding the transfer of Stark’s body, the coroner was cagey and evasive to say the least, Sabitch virtually threatened me when I went to see him and Stamford was the one who set me on this path in the first place with his conspiracy theory about Stark’s execution being…whatever the fuck it was supposed to be. The only thing connecting any of this randomness together seems to be The Brethren. They have something in common with the victim’s families, they have something in common with the prison. Jesus, Ciaran, someone tried to kill me last night virtually right outside your fuckin’ office window. Why would someone bother to do that if I wasn’t getting close to something connecting all this? You have to admit it stinks just a little.”
He stared at Joe before sighing. “Dunwall lives out past Leixlip. At least he did after all of this.” He waved the printout in the air. “Go speak to him and see what he has to say, but be careful. He said he had proof about The Brethren being into something dodgy but no one ever saw it as far as I know. If there was anything, they probably took it in exchange for the money he received.”
Ciaran moved around his desk and leaned back against the front it, his look becoming concerned. “The Brethren are powerful, Joe. How you claim to have never heard of them, I have no idea, but that aside, be damn certain wherever you go with this is one hundred percent reliable. I’ll be behind you every step of the way, as long as you’re right.”
Joe nodded gently. “I’ll be careful. My face can only take so much.”
As he headed out of the office and back to his desk, he suddenly felt as though he was about to open Pandora’s Box. Once opened, if he found something, would he ever be able to push everything back in again?
‘The secret is not to give up hope. It’s very hard not to because if you’re really doing something worthwhile I think you will be pushed to the brink of hopelessness before you come through the other side.’
George Lucas
Chapter Twenty
03:48
OBADIAH sat motionless on the floor outside the room where Ellie slept, playfully prinking the knife tip methodically onto the end of his fingers.
He had spent the last few hours quietly bubbling with sup-pressed rage at Tommy’s phone call. The threat to Ellie apparent, he wanted to understand why he cared so much about what happened to her. Searching his heart in an attempt to locate some trace of compassion that might be lingering in a dark recess had yielded what he thought was the tiniest vestige of hope, naked and shivering somewhere in the void of his mind. He knew it had been forced there by Eva and Ellie. Diminished with his wife’s death, it existed nevertheless.
But Obadiah knew compassion and hope were two separate things. The hope he still clung onto was driven by the uncertainty that had followed him here, uncertainty that somewhere in his soul he had always wanted to be loved. And that hope which remained, however flickering, was something he intended to hold onto with every fiber of his being.
Compassion on the other hand, that active desire to alleviate someone else’s suffering, was anathema to his soul. Maybe it had shone momentarily in the intimate moment he had shared with Eva. But if so, her death had driven it away.
All that now remained was Obadiah Stark. The Tally Man.
The hush engulfing the house seemed a pending epoch. It unnerved Obadiah, not in a fearful way, but like kismet as though the reason behind all that had happened was about to be revealed. Since waking here, he had suspected someone was playing a game with him. Whether God or some other sentient being he didn’t know. It didn’t matter. Obadiah Stark was no one’s puppet.
Mark’s presence at the bottom of the stairs broke his reverie.
“Something’s not right,” Mark said nervously. “The lights have just gone out in the street.”
Obadiah glanced back at Ellie before rising to his feet and walking slowly down the stairs. “Grab Ellie and take her somewhere, anywhere. If anyone tries to stop you that isn’t me, ki
ll them.” He held the knife out handle first.
Mark looked at it and then at Obadiah, shaking his head and pushing it back towards him. “What the fuck, I’m not killing anyone.”
“You will if anyone tries to take her,” Obadiah replied, gently pushing the knife back. “Nothing can happen to her. I need your help, Mark. You have no idea how difficult saying that is, but I do. You have to protect her for me if I fail.”
“Fail what?”
“Killing them.”
“Who?”
“The people about to come for me…and for her.”
Mark sunk slowly to the floor, sad bewilderment caressing his face. “Jesus, Obi. What the fuck have you got me into? You’re insane.”
Obadiah stared at him, thinking that where once he would have been disgusted at such a pathetic display, he felt only pity. “You have no idea,” he snorted in reply. “Now stand up, get Ellie and go. Somewhere safe, you understand?”
Mark looked up at Obadiah, resignation replacing bewilderment. “I understand.”
The sound of glass breaking downstairs forced Obadiah to the top of the stairs. “Go,” he barked. “Out the window in her room and onto the garage. NOW!”
He waited until he heard Mark whispering to Ellie that they had to go on an adventure as he lifted her from the bed before slowly descending the stairs. Dizziness came upon him suddenly, broadsiding him across the head. Grabbing hold of the banister Obadiah couldn’t stop himself from falling back onto the stairs. He tried desperately to pull himself up, wondering if someone would use this opportunity whilst he was incapacitated to kill him. Lying back down, pain began to arch across his back accompanied by voices all around him.
The familiar tearing sensation that was his tattooed tally marks being slowly re-etched onto his skin consumed him. Multiple layers of pain in different areas of his back slithered their way across his spine whilst voices continued to echo around him. Their overlapping nature made it hard for him to focus, auditory and bodily sensations unrelenting and torturous. The voices jabbered endlessly, anxious and intense, incomprehensible syntax yielding emotion rather than intent. He felt as though he were suddenly caught in a physical and mental web. Helpless.
He wondered if his being here was simply a delusion trying to harbor meaning for himself, opaque as it was. Perhaps it was his mind’s way of injecting a determinate meaning into perplexity.
Still in pain, he pulled himself up using the banister again as support. The figure before him seemed to appear from nowhere. He instinctively spun around, smashing his elbow into the stranger’s temple before falling backwards, off balance. Using his momentum, he pushed both of them off the stairs, hearing a gasp of expelled air as his fall was broken by his attacker. Obadiah rolled off to the side, his forearm connecting with the stranger’s head. Satisfied the figure was incapacitated and smiling at the wet, guttural sound of someone choking on their own blood, he rose to his knees and stood slowly. The dizziness returned immediately, but the pain seemed to have seceded, probably from adrenaline. He paused to listen for the voices, but heard only the figure next to him, gurgling and gasping for air. Irritated, Obadiah knelt back down and grabbed his head, ramming it repeatedly into the floor until he felt the body go limp in his hands.
Stimulating memories of the power he had once held flooded his mind, making his body ache. A shadow flashed up ahead, forcing Obadiah toward the kitchen. He grabbed another knife from the holder and held it by his leg. The arm that locked around his neck caught him momentarily off guard. Spinning round quickly, Obadiah broke the hold he was in and kicked the attacker’s legs out from beneath him. Kneeling on his spine and pulling his head back violently by the jaw, Obadiah moved the knife quickly from side to side before the man realised what was happening. Arterial spray pirouetted across the walls as the man panicked, trying to buck Obadiah off. Blood soaked into the carpet as Obadiah climbed off him and watched the body become limp.
Wiping the knife blade against his trousers, he moved to the front door and looked through the window. The street was deserted, but he knew the two men he had just killed were only an opening salvo. Tommy was not going to stop whatever he had started tonight. Why his former friend had taken this role Obadiah had no idea. But everything occurring tonight was a message, sent via Tommy to ensure it was received loud and clear.
As he headed into the living room, shadows falling across the floor made it hard for Obadiah to initially spot the third man standing in the corner. The figure moved forward quickly, blocking Obadiah’s knife slash and countering it with an elbow to his temple. Stunned by the blow, the man spun around and followed up with the back of his fist, sending Obadiah sprawling across the floor. He sprang to his feet, ready for a second assault. Yet the man just stood, bathed in the shadows. Waiting.
“Well, come on then. Isn’t this what you want, a shot at the big time?”
The man remained still, his face hidden yet his stance familiar. Obadiah moved towards him slowly before stopping as laughter began to echo around him.
“Jesus Christ, Obi. You have no idea how to protect someone do you? ‘Out the window!’ What kinda daft bastard suggests that as an escape plan?” Tommy appeared as though the darkness were melting around him. “If you could protect someone as well as you can kill, they might have stood a chance, but as it is, nil poi.”
“Where is she?” Obadiah demanded.
“Who? Your little Eleanor? She’s… somewhere. Your mate Mark on the other hand, I wish I could tell you he was safe and in one piece.”
“What have you done?” Obadiah asked softly, his eyes glowing eerily in the moonlight.
Tommy gestured behind him. Another figure entered the room holding Mark’s severed head. The expression on his face one of surprise, eyes wide and staring.
“I did ask him nicely for the girl, but he was absolute in his resolve that she wasn’t to come to any harm. Your influence I fear. You do have a way of scaring the shite out of people. I think he was more terrified of what you would do to him if he let anything happen to her. Guess he worried about the wrong person, eh?”
Obadiah sensed someone behind him, their presence again familiar, the face obscured.
“Why, Tommy? What do you hope to accomplish with all this?”
Tommy moved to the chair in front of Obadiah and sat down. “To make manifest what we discussed earlier. When I said your suffering had already begun it wasn’t hyperbole. If you took a moment to think about it, about why you’re here, it would start to become clear. You think this is me doing all of this, it isn’t. It’s you. You created misery and torment in your life, committed unspeakable acts and brushed them off as though you had lint on your jacket. Nature doesn’t recognize good and evil, only balance. Weren’t those your very words at your trial? Your way of explaining yourself to all those family members whose loved ones you had taken. Profound, yes. Adequate…not by a long shot, sunshine. But you were right…nature does require balance. And this will be yours. Think of me as your scales of justice, one hand holding your past and the other your future, both patiently waiting to see what will tip them one-way or the other. Tick-tock, Tally Man.”
Obadiah clenched the knife tightly in his hand, subtly registering the position of the other figures in the room. “I’m obviously being a little slow here, Tommy. You think I don’t know this is all a little Twilight Zone? You’re not executed, awake to find yourself in your childhood town, kill a bunch of people and have everything reset itself the next day without realising something is a little ‘off’ about the whole thing. Add to the mix I ended up with a wife, child and an alleged brain tumor, and you see that the afterlife is one fucked up place.”
Tommy threw his head back in an exaggerated fashion and laughed. “Afterlife? That’s what you think this is? Ah, bless ya, Obi. That genius level I.Q of yours is obviously on vacation.”
“So, tell me what this is then?”
“I don’t have to, you already know. You’ve just been so caught up in y
our ‘save the cheerleader, save the world’ complex, you’ve missed the small print. By the way, hearing voices yet? Sound so clear don’t they? Like they’re in the next room or something.”
Obadiah made his move, darting across the room. He stopped just short of Tommy’s position as he saw Ellie being brought in through the kitchen door. His anger was innately replaced by joy at seeing her safe.
“Daddy,” she called out, her voice trembling with fear and relief at seeing him.
The words that left his mouth seemed natural where once they would have felt alien. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t worry… everything will be okay.”
“That’s right, Obi,” Tommy taunted as he rose from the chair and moved behind her, stroking her hair. “Lie to her like you lied to all those other girls. Tell her she’ll be safe, that she has nothing to worry about.”
Obadiah moved a step closer to them both, the man behind Tommy who had brought Ellie in taking a step back as though afraid.
“Ah, ah, Tally Man.” Tommy lowered his hand to the little girl’s neck, caressing it gently. “I would snap it before you got anywhere near me. Think very carefully about your next move. Can’t you sense it, Obi? The pieces falling into place, the resolution beginning to set in? Your apotheosis is almost upon you.”
“You’re insane.”
Tommy began to laugh hysterically. “Hello, this is the pot calling the kettle…you’re black!”
Ellie was crying uncontrollably, both at the situation and the raw emotion flowing from the people in the room. Obadiah could feel it. Death was coming, the sensation as familiar to him as his own face.
The voices began again, imperceptibly at first and then slowly growing louder. Obadiah shook his head, trying to remain focused. All around him he could hear conversations, laughter, anger, mixed together in a cacophony of sound. Over the top of it was Tommy’s voice, jocular, teasing.
Hellbound: The Tally Man Page 25
